The Reason

by William Sirls

  “Are you all right?” Dr. Kelly asked.

  “He’s a good kid,” Macey said. Was a good kid.

  “Of course,” Dr. Kelly said softly.

  Macey closed the folder again. “It’s a good family.”

  “I’m sure they are,” Dr. Kelly said. “We’ll still run another EEG in twenty-four hours, and then we’ll see what the family wants to do.”

  “All right,” Macey said.

  Talia tapped Macey’s elbow. “Do you want me to go with you?”

  “I’ve got it,” she said. “Thank you, though, Talia.” Macey turned and slowly walked away. Uneasiness began shifting back and forth between her stomach and her throat, growing with each step closer toward Alex’s room.

  “Dr. Lewis?” Talia said.

  She stopped. It felt good to stop. She turned around. “Yes?”

  “Dr. Lewis, I want to show you something real quick,” the nurse said, tilting her head toward Dr. Kelly as if she were asking permission. The doctor nodded toward her.

  Macey walked back to the station, and Talia flipped open yet another folder and made a circle with her finger around a series of blood pressure readings. “Look right here.”

  She studied the numbers. They didn’t make any sense.

  “Look at what we were giving him—what we’re still giving him. Alexander has been on maximum dosage, and his blood pressure hasn’t even entertained the idea of staying up. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Macey glanced suspiciously at Dr. Kelly and then back to the chart.

  “Me neither,” Dr. Kelly said, lifting her eyebrows and giving her head a little shake. “Not quite like that.”

  Macey stared at the numbers, reading them three times, then four. “Nor have I. I guess sometimes the cards are stacked against you.”

  “I know I can’t erase your disappointment,” Dr. Kelly said. “And I would never say that he had no chance. But it certainly looks that way here.”

  You have no idea, Macey thought.

  Dr. Kelly put her elbows on top of the station counter and made a proposal. “We could put him on bypass if you want. He’s not the best candidate, but I’d back you on it. See if something changes.”

  Macey closed her eyes and pinched lightly at her forehead. She shook her head, thinking about Alex—what was left of Alex— hooked to a machine for the next five, ten, or twenty years.

  “Don’t prolong it.”

  She could hear the carpenter’s perfectly calm voice again.

  “Don’t prolong it.”

  “No way,” she said, dropping her hand on the countertop. She had no interest in playing God with Alexander Thomas. There was too much competition hanging out at East Shore.

  “No way?” Dr. Kelly repeated.

  “No way am I putting this family through that. Particularly with these EEG results.”

  “Of course,” Dr. Kelly said. “I respect that decision.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Talia asked, looking at her with concern.

  “Thank you,” Macey said. “I think I’ve got it.”

  She turned again and made her way down the hallway to corridor C. She finally stopped and wasn’t sure how much time was passing as she stared at the 9 on the door. Would this ever get easier? Giving parents the worst news possible?

  But Brooke and Ian were not simply the parents of her patient; they’d also become good friends. She knew she was in no way ready to run through that door with this bomb strapped to her back.

  C’mon, Lewis. Let’s go. There’s no such thing as ready. There’s only willing. She opened up the door, walked in, and gently pulled back the curtain.

  Ian immediately propped up in his seat, looking eager for good news.

  The bottom of Macey’s heart felt like it had been dunked in cold water. She looked in Ian’s eyes, knowing what a good father he was. And how little time he’d had to try his hand at it.

  Brooke was still looking at Alex, and Macey joined her. His head had been turned since the EEG was taken. He was now facing them, and the thick tube that led out of his mouth into the respirator had been replaced and freshly taped.

  Macey pulled a chair to the foot of the bed. She ran her hand uncomfortably along the side of her face and then crossed her arms. The respirator seemed like it was the only sound in the room. Inhale—click. Exhale—click. Inhale—click. Alex’s little chest went up and down.

  “What did the EEG say?” Brooke asked.

  “It’s not good, you guys.”

  “What do you mean?” Brooke asked, crouching forward. “It’s not good?”

  “It was flat,” Macey responded, her voice light and apologetic. “The EEG came back flat.”

  “What does that mean?” Brooke asked in a way that suggested she wasn’t quite ready to panic.

  “It means . . .”

  “He’s brain-dead,” Ian said numbly, looking back at Alex. “That’s what it means, right?”

  Macey frowned, watching the shades of sorrow spread across his face. “We are going to do another EEG tomorrow morning. Until we have that report—”

  “Brain-dead?” Brooke said, the pitch of her voice heightening. “No, that’s impossible. It’s not supposed to happen like this. I want to talk to Pastor Jim. I need to talk to Pastor Jim!”

  “We’ll call him, Brooke,” Ian said. He put his arm around her and then turned back to the doctor. “What do we do now?”

  “Wait,” Macey answered. “All we can do is wait.”

  “Wait for what?” Brooke asked.

  Macey couldn’t answer the question. Not yet, anyhow. All she knew was that she had to get to the window.

  “Wait for what, Macey?” Brooke repeated.

  Macey glanced at both Ian and Brooke. She had done nothing for them, in the end. Everything she had ever worked for—everything she had ever done—was crashing into this one moment of failure. She was at God’s mercy and couldn’t do anything about it.

  “Macey?” Ian asked.

  God’s mercy.

  “Excuse me,” she muttered, walking over to the window to look outside.

  This time there was no overweight boss, no searching the vast construction site.

  He was right there.

  The first vehicle she looked at was the truck, and Kenneth was standing in the center of the bed with his arms crossed, looking right up at her.

  “Macey?” Brooke asked, wanting an answer to her question. “What is it?”

  Macey stared straight down at the carpenter.

  Let me ask you something, big man. Mary Springsted, the cross, Zach Norman, Pastor Jim’s eyesight—you hold the power. You know all the answers to every question ever asked. I’m going to ask again. Why these people? They are some of your biggest fans. Why this boy?

  Kenneth didn’t move.

  “Macey!” Brooke shouted, crying now. “Why aren’t you answering me?”

  But Macey could only put her head closer to the glass. What are we waiting for, Kenneth?

  Kenneth just stared.

  I’m not a quitter. I did my best. But I can’t win. I can’t beat you.

  Kenneth lowered his arms to his sides and then tilted his head to his right. Macey could feel his stare running right through her.

  I’m not prolonging this. I did what you said. You’re prolonging it. Why?

  Kenneth stepped off the back of the tailgate onto the ground.

  “Tell us,” Ian said. “Go ahead and tell us. We know why you’re hesitating. Why you don’t want to say it.”

  I didn’t prolong it, Kenneth. Why are you? Tell me. Please, tell me.

  Brooke was sobbing.

  Kenneth turned and walked toward the new wing.

  “Don’t you walk away from me,” Macey gritted out, belatedly realizing it was aloud.

  Ian rose and joined her at the window, just as Kenneth slipped behind a construction trailer.

  Brooke was choking, she was crying so hard. Ian turned to kneel beside
her and missed Kenneth appearing on the far side of the trailer, heading down the wooden walkway.

  Macey’s face was an inch from the glass and her inner voice screamed at a fevered pitch. Tell me, Kenneth! What are you waiting for?

  Kenneth stopped in his tracks, and Macey held her breath. She waited, and he still didn’t move. Behind her, the respirator continued to raise little Alex’s chest, then let it fall. As it would for hours, days, months . . .

  “You win,” she whispered.

  Kenneth slowly turned around. There was something different about his stare this time. It didn’t run through her. It filled her.

  “You win,” she repeated.

  “Who are you talking to?” Ian asked.

  Macey pulled back a little farther from the window and waited. And then she did something she never thought she would be capable of doing. She let go. She surrendered.

  She waited a moment longer, and she and the carpenter continued to stare at each other. She took a deep breath, paused again, and then she finally said it.

  “Take him.”

  The oxygen saturation alarm sounded, wailing and turning Ian’s head.

  “What is that?” Brooke screamed, trying to get around Ian to Alex.

  The blood pressure alarm was next.

  “No!” Brooke screamed. “No! Please, no!”

  The heart monitor went off last.

  Macey spun around and yanked a white spiral cord on the wall, calling the Code Blue. The last one.

  “I want to talk to Pastor Jim!” Brooke cried, drowned out by the chorus of alarms as she clung to Ian. “Please! Please!”

  Within thirty seconds five ICU members were working on Alex. Two more showed up and failed to usher Brooke out of the room. Ian had to pick her up and carry her out into the hallway, with Macey right behind them.

  “What are we supposed to do now?” Ian asked.

  Macey answered him with a question and felt like she was handing him the nails to a tiny coffin. “How long do you want to do this?”

  “What are you talking about?” Brooke asked, clinging to Ian’s arm. “It’s not supposed to be like this! I want to talk to Pastor Jim!”

  “How long?” Macey repeated. “Until you let him go?”

  “What are you saying?” Brooke asked, trying to catch her breath. “We can’t let him go! God is going to make him better!”

  Macey shook her head. “No, Brooke. We can keep his body going, but . . .”

  “Well you just keep him going!” Brooke screamed.

  Macey felt like she had switched into autopilot. Feelings were gone, and words just came. “The part of Alex’s brain that lets him breathe can go on for years, Brooke. Years.”

  “What are you suggesting we do?” Ian asked.

  “Listen to me,” Macey said. “Please listen to me. Even if Alex were to somehow come out of this, he won’t be the same little boy you knew.”

  “No, no, no!” Brooke cried. “He is gonna get better. He’s supposed to. I believed. I believed!” She put her fist to her mouth, staring at Macey like she was a monster. Behind her, another nurse and orderly ran into Alex’s room. “I want to call Pastor Jim.”

  “I want you to call him too,” Macey said, taking Brooke’s arm. “I want you to call him and have him come up here right now with Shirley, Carla, Charlie, and whoever else you want.”

  “What do we do until then?” Ian asked.

  “Please do something, Macey,” Brooke said. “I love him so much.”

  “I know you do,” Macey said, emotion suddenly returning to the stage and forcing her to fight off her own tears. “Brooke and Ian—I love Alex too. I love that little boy. But he isn’t here anymore. And he won’t be.” She dropped her voice. “Please, you guys, please.”

  “Please . . . what?” Brooke asked, dread in her eyes.

  “Please do the right thing.”

  “What’s the right thing?”

  Don’t cry, Macey Lewis. Don’t you dare cry.

  Macey closed her eyes and then struggled to slowly open them back up. “Let him go,” she whispered.

  Brooke stepped back as if she’d been slapped. She looked up at Ian.

  “He’s already gone,” Ian said, his own eyes beginning to well.

  Brooke quickly covered her ears and looked at Macey.

  The doctor knew that Brooke was completely lost and searching for another answer that wouldn’t come—ever.

  “I am sorry,” Macey said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t side with her, Ian. Help me,” Brooke pleaded, cringing and making fists that pounded at her sides. “We have to stand up for Alex!”

  “Exactly,” Macey said. “Stand up for him by doing what’s best for him.” She reached out to put her hand on Brooke’s shoulder.

  “No,” Brooke said in a child’s voice, edging away. She then went completely silent.

  “Brooke,” Macey said. She held her arms open, waiting, and Brooke broke then, looking as if she was going to collapse.

  Brooke stepped slowly forward, her arms at her sides, and leaned against the doctor. Macey wrapped her arms around her.

  “Let him go,” Macey whispered.

  Ian put his arms around both of them and repeated Macey’s words. “He won’t be the same little boy we knew . . .”

  “But he was so excited,” Brooke said, sniffling and shifting her head on Macey’s shoulder. “He was so excited about getting a bike that didn’t have training wheels. And he wanted a lunch box with a thermos in it, because he was going to go to school on the big kids’ bus for the whole day, and he—”

  “It’s time,” Macey said softly. “It’s time to free him.”

  There was a pause. Macey could feel Brooke’s heart thumping against her ribs.

  “My baby is gone,” Brooke muttered. “He’s gone already, isn’t he?”

  “Yes,” Macey whispered.

  Brooke shifted her face from Macey’s shoulder to Ian’s chest. He held her, and then they both turned and looked at Alex’s door, clinging to each other.

  “Go ahead, buddy,” Brooke said, closing her eyes. “Go ahead.”

  Ian nodded at Macey as his lip quivered. “Let him go.”

  Macey put her arms around them and watched as the tears began to race down the sides of Ian’s face.

  “I’ll go inform the team of your wishes,” she said.

  FIFTY

  Brooke hadn’t said a word in over fifteen minutes, and she knew for certain that she wasn’t all there at the moment. Neither was Ian.

  The big capital E in the East Shore sign on the wall kept coming in and out of focus as she stared dreamily down the hallway. There wasn’t any sound. Everything was fuzzy and moving slowly.

  Whatever was in her brain that was now cushioning her from the blow of Alex’s death had transformed Corridor C into a colorless, emotionless wasteland. She didn’t cry. She couldn’t seem to form words. She couldn’t seem to care.

  Her head stayed glued to Ian’s side as the last two members of the code team finally came out of the room. To her, they were like faceless apparitions, characters from an ongoing nightmare, gliding past. She clung to Ian’s arm and turned her head back toward C-9. The door was still open, and inside was her dead child.

  Dead child. Alex is dead.

  She could already imagine Alex in that bed, and the thought of it added another drip of the natural painkiller that made things blurrier still.

  Macey came out from around the door, and Brooke knew it was time.

  She lifted her head off of Ian’s arm. Every movement took effort, as if her body had been cracked open and filled with sand.

  “Did you get ahold of Pastor Jim?” Macey asked, looking with compassion from one to the other. Brooke focused in on her face long enough to see that she was hurting too.

  “They should be up here any minute,” Ian said.

  “Do you want to wait for them?”

  “No,” he said, looking down at Brooke. “I think . . . I t
hink it’d be good for us to see him alone first.”

  Brooke nodded. Not because she agreed. But because dimly, she thought it would be what was expected of a mother. Why can’t I feel anything?

  “All right,” Macey said, holding the door open. “I’ll come with you.”

  They walked into the room and stood behind the curtain. Brooke momentarily panicked, thinking they’d all forgotten to don masks and gloves, but then remembered they weren’t needed.

  Not needed. Not needed. Not needed . . .

  Macey began to slowly pull the curtain back, but Brooke looked away, out the window at snow floating down in thick, wet flakes into the parking lot below. Alex loved to play in the snow. Brooke had bought him a new sled for his birthday . . . It was in the garage.

  Who will I give that to now? Can I return it? Maybe Charlie wants it . . .

  The sound of the top curtain rings moving drew her attention, the only sound in the room. There was no longer any soft beeping or chirping coming from the monitors. There was no more puffing and clicking from the respirator. It was quiet.

  Quiet, so quiet . . .

  The curtain slid open enough to expose the machines to the right of Alex’s bed, all off now, their flickering numbers replaced by blank and dull gray screens. Time to watch over another patient.

  Another patient. Not Alex. Never again, Alex.

  Macey finished opening the curtain and stood on the opposite side, waiting. Brooke knew she should look down, force herself to look at Alex, but she couldn’t.

  I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

  She looked up and to her right at Ian. She tried to take in the empty look on his face as he stared at what she knew was their dead son. Slowly, she turned her head back toward the bed, and there Alex was.

  The breathing tube had been taken out of his mouth, and his IVs had been removed. The back of the bed was propped up, and the side rails were lowered. Alex’s head was positioned straight forward, centered on his pillow, with his chin tilted up slightly. The sheet had been pulled up to just below his shoulders, barely exposing the port in the top of his chest. His arms were draped straight down to his sides, and his tiny hands were flat on the sheet. His mouth was slightly open, and a small voice inside of Brooke said, Wake up, buddy, wake up. The Pop-Tarts are done. Charlie’s waiting for you. He wants to watch a show.